You can't go back and edit a conversation the way you can a letter.


You can't go back and edit a conversation the way you can a letter. The months wore on; he became assured of success at his new job and bought a house, while I began to feel more and more isolated and left behind. I was working three 12-hour night shifts a week, sleeping days, exercising less and less, reading his letters, and doing little else. I saw no-one, didn't even go to the movies. Our fantasy life--in letters--grew until, as I became more and more lonely, it occupied most of my waking thoughts and I came to want to act out those fanta- sies. I wanted desperately to get back together with him. Move in with him and live with him again. I could quit my job--I would be able to get a nursing job anywhere. But he didn't ask me to, and I couldn't bring myself to ask him. Midwestern pride, I guess. After we had explored our fantasy life pretty thoroughly he wrote a fantasy in which he came to visit me and we arranged to get back together and live out the fantasies we had written about.

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